Picspiration: Sweat, Baby, Sweat
by One of the Fallen
Summary: A random one-shot inspired by Emmy's Pervy Picspirations on the PPSS blog.


**_Disclaimer:  
>Stephenie Meyer owns the characters; I own a questionable Spanish dictionary.<em>**

**_A/N:  
><em>I really don't know how this happened. All I know is I tripped on over to the Perv Pack's Smut Shack, discovered a lot of sweaty people and got inspired. This was written for Emmy's Pervy Picspirations, Friday 5 August 2011. **

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><p>"A heat wave? A <em>HEAT. WAVE?<em>" I slammed my fist down on the reception desk, vaguely aware in the back of my mind that I was being ridiculous. The heat had officially gone to my head. I took a deep breath and fought to modulate my tone as I said, "This isn't a goddamned heat wave. It's freakin' hell on earth!"

The concierge smiled blandly. "Lo siento, señora. No entiendo una palabra que estás diciendo. Nice… heat, sí…? _Perra loca_."

"I am going to _kill_ Rosalie -!" I huffed with frustration.

I could just picture her smug, I-make-boys-spill-their-shit-in-under-sixty-seconds face as he said, "_You need to extract that stick you've got shoved up your ass, girlfriend. Jesus, I almost wish you were still humping that dipshit Newton! You were never this uptight when you were getting laid." _She'd shoved a brochure for some "fantasy weekend" hotel in Barcelona into my hands and told me to have a nice time. Then, she slammed her bedroom door in my face and went back to fucking her I-was-a-jock-in-high-school-but-I'm-dumb-as-shit-and-virtually-unemployable boyfriend at three-fucking-thirty a.m. in the morning. Which wouldn't have been so freakin' bad – I mean, I'm glad _one_ of us was getting laid – if Rosalie wasn't such a _screamer_. Ugh!

I clenched my fist and counted to ten. _One… Two… Three… _I would _not_ hit the concierge. _Four… Five… _I would _not_ hit the concierge. _Six… Seven… Eight… _Calm, calm, _calm_ thoughts. _Nine… Ten._

"Thank you for your time," I managed. He continued to smile that bland, I'm-trying-to-look-like-I-give-a-shit face and even though it was an effort not to kill someone – namely, him – I made myself turn around and walk back towards the elevator.

I hit the number for my floor with more force than necessary and almost growled when the doors crawled shut. The heat was even worse trapped inside the little box that was supposed to take me up twenty-two floors. Jesus, hadn't they ever heard of air conditioning? I could practically feel my skin melting and dripping all over my clothes. I probably looked like I'd just been dunked in the swimming pool; my hair, which I'd knotted and thrown up into a messy ponytail was damp and the small, curly wisps that had escaped the knot were clinging to my sweaty forehead. My tank top was practically molded to my body and I was pretty sure if I scrunched up my toes, my socks would make disgusting, squelching noises.

Nobody should have to endure this torture; Rosalie was going to die a slow and painful death… preferably in the oven of our barely-used kitchen where she would get a taste of her own, vile medicine.

The lift jerked into motion, steadily climbing the floors at a ridiculously slow pace. The gold bar that wound around the edge of the lift was noticeably cooler than the stifling air and I clung to it desperately, wondering how much longer I'd hold out before I started rubbing myself against it shamelessly.

_Not long_. _Oh, fuckin' hell, this was agony!_

The lift jerked to a stop on the twelfth floor and I groaned as the doors began to open. Slowly.

I opened my mouth to protest – strongly – because dammit, at least there was some air conditioning – however shitty – in my room, but something hard slammed me back into the back of the lift.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, HOW DO YOU CLOSE THESE FUCKING DOORS?"

Dazed, I could only open and close my mouth like a freakin' goldfish as a hot, sweaty madman pushed his thumb repeatedly into the close-doors button, hissing and swearing under his breath in a way that was, for some unknown, probably-because-I-haven't-had-sex-in-three-months reason was turning me on beyond belief.

I raked my eyes over his broad shoulders, encased in a tight, black t-shirt and the black jeans that molded to his god's-gift-to-women fantastic ass. Jesus Christ. I'd never seen a more gorgeous specimen in my entire life and that was just from behind!

Finally, the elevator decided to co-operate with the madman, and the doors began to shut, just as another man burst out of one of the doors in the corridor beyond the lift. "CULLEN!"

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!"

The madman stabbed once more at the close-doors button just as the other dude made a lunge for the elevator.

I don't know why, but I was hugely relieved when he didn't make it, until I realized that the lift doors were sealed shut and the elevator was slowly rising, leaving me completely alone and defenseless with a man who could potentially be a crazy, off-his-nut murderer for the next ten floors. Lucky me.

"Fuck." He sighed, his chest heaving, and turned slightly so he sagged against the side of the elevator.

I whimpered, because holy-mother-of-god he was even hotter from the front. His bronze hair was soaked through with sweat and sticking up in an array of wonderfully divine, sensual sex-hair ways and his face looked like it had been carved by angels. Naughty ones. My shorts were damp and sticky and this time I couldn't blame the heat wave.

At the sound of my whimper, his head jerked up, as if he'd forgotten I was here. His mouth curved into the most sexual, crooked smirk I had ever seen in my life and he stood up straighter, his hands flexing as he appraised my stunned face, his eyes wandering lower until I felt my nipples harden through my tank top and my legs shake with the blast of heat that erupted between my legs. Found the source of the heat wave, then.

"Are you staying at the hotel?" he asked in a low, velvety voice, and I swear my skin tingled at the sound.

I nodded my head.

"Room?"

"1261."

"Excellent."

I really don't know what came over me and I fully intended to blame Rosalie because, let's face it, this was _all_ her freakin' fault, but in the space of maybe three seconds, I went from staring at him like a loon to having myself pressed up against hard muscle and delicious, salty, sweaty skin. He could have been an escaped mental patient on the run from his doctor. He could have been an axe-murderer cruising for his next victim and really, I should have fucking asked him all these questions instead of acting like a horny, thirteen-year-old boy humping his pillow after a disturbingly vivid wet dream.

His hot, moist mouth latched onto my neck and I groaned, hooking my right leg around his as I pressed my pelvis into his belt. I'd never been more aroused in my life. His stubble rasped against my skin and I shivered, little bolts of heat echoing through my body, arcing toward my pussy as I molded myself against him.

He started whispering as he tongued my neck, his teeth pulling on my ear lobe, his fingers pulling on the zipper of my shorts. I could only out individual words and a few curses – _"Fuck hot… naughty little minx… smell… fucking beautiful." – _but at this point, he could have been reciting the Constitution and my panties would be wet because ungh his voice did irreparably damage to my self-control.

He got my shorts open and then his hand was sliding under the waistband of my panties. _Sweet-mother-of-mercy_! His hands were rough and callused, and damn if they didn't make me _ache_ as his thumb dove straight for my clit, his long, tapered fingers scraping along my pussy, eliciting shivers in their wake. I thought back to how he'd stabbed the close-doors button with the same thumb and I almost collapsed as a wave of sheer lust plowed through my system.

He delved a finger into my hole and I moaned loudly, every coherent thought deserting my head. I no longer cared that I was letting a stranger finger me in an elevator that was probably being monitored by security cameras. Two fingers. _Sweet Jesus._

He pressed a third finger into me and suddenly, every breath I exhaled was a whimper, and by the excited, gravelly note in his voice as he murmured how sexy I was, I think he fucking loved what he was doing to me. I fisted his hair buried my face in his chest as I finally let go.

The orgasm hit me with the force of a battering ram. "JESUS CHRIST!"

Some small, tiny, miniscule part of my brain that could still manage some form of coherency noted that I had even put Rosalie-SCREAMER-Hale to shame.

"One," he rasped, and fuck me if I wasn't already ready for round two.

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><p>"Aquí viene, la perra loca que te hablé esta mañana." The concierge smiled blandly as I wheeled my luggage up to the reception desk, intending on checking out. His colleague eyed me speculatively and I blushed, wondering if he knew I'd spent the entire night being fucked every-which-way until my brain became a mushy puddle and I almost melted into the bed sheets.<p>

"Senora, I am most apologetic, but have you seen this man?" He passed a photograph over the desk, and I could feel a heated blush rising on my face.

"Eh… no," I said slowly. "Why? Is he… dangerous?" _He's definitely dangerous to my libido._

He frowned. "Sí, he is… how would you say... a criminal?"

_"Thanks for letting me hide out for a few hours." He smirked, his head buried between my legs, his tongue doing wondrous, beautiful things to my body._

_"My… Pleasure," I panted. _

I really, really hoped he blamed the heat for my suddenly flushed face. "I'll… watch out then."

_Oops._

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><p><strong>AN:  
>Um, so yeah. I was inspired :P Review? <strong>


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